


'til death do us part

by augustuscaesar



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Omnic Crisis, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Pre-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augustuscaesar/pseuds/augustuscaesar
Summary: they loved each other. no one could deny that. not even death could separate them in the end.(a multi-chaptered series about gabriel reyes and jack morrison's relationship and its revolution over the course of overwatch history)





	'til death do us part

**Author's Note:**

> this goes out to all y'all who like this ship and aren't total creeps. enjoy

“Not bad for your second run, 24. Your time has gone from 10 minutes 9 seconds down to 4 minutes and 59 seconds. Approximately a 50.90% decrease; definitely a large improvement from the first time around,” the proctor states, recording the results on his tablet. “By this rate, you should be able to complete this course in around 2 minutes.”

Reyes, still hunched over himself and sweating bullets, gives the man a nod and vague grunt of acknowledgement before trudging over to the sidelines and collapsing, exhaustion taking over and legs still shaking. 

The scientists really weren’t lying when they said that the obstacle course was nothing like any of the recruits have ever run before; it was long, exhausting, and grueling. More than enough to make a handful of recruits cry the first time they completed it. They had explained that this was the intent of the experiment, and within the next week or so they would begin to see exponential progress. By the end of the first four weeks of the experiment, they would be able to run the entire course without breaking a sweat.

Sergeant Gabriel Reyes was called in three weeks earlier for a personal meeting with the mastermind behind the Soldier Enhancement Program, a classified genetic modification program funded by the government that was meant to churn out super soldiers in direct response to the growing threat of war against omnics. He had been told he had the latent potential to “perform exceptionally in this experimental project” alongside ninety-nine other candidates chosen by the director herself. 

Reyes was met with a surprisingly short and stocky woman he easily towered over, with dark hair kept in a neat bob and large, round glasses that contrasted her angular face dressed in a simple blouse and skirt. She had a noticeable air of power in her stance and her gaze, black eyes narrowed and staring right through him as he entered the office. 

“Tell me, Sergeant Reyes, do you happen to know much about genetics?” Reyes distinctly remembers her-- Diana Yumang, Gabriel recalls, her full name displayed on the ID tag she wore over her lab coat-- initially asking. He remembers standing up straighter and replying with a simple “no, ma’am”.

Director Yumang’s smile grew almost wolfish as she began to explain the benefits of the enhancement program, using medical jargon Reyes vaguely recognizes from his high school science classes. The theme of “unlocking human potential”, as she put it, was a common theme throughout her entire monologue. 

“You’ll become stronger, faster than any average human,” she said, a tad more eager than Reyes had expected, “you’ll be able to survive multiple gunshot wounds and continue to fight like they were nothing. A fighting chance against the omnium, if I do say so myself.” 

Due to the vague mention from Yumang of the program being “highly experimental and potentially dangerous”, the recruits will be compensated generously for their participation. Their ranks won’t matter, being stripped from them so they were all on equal footing and to avoid any potential animosity between the recruits, although if they make it through successfully a promotion or two was guaranteed. 

Every recruit will have a numerical codename based on their ranked potential and ability, Yumang explained. Reyes had been assigned the number twenty-four. “You have good genetics,” she said simply, placing a gentle hand on his forearm, “and you are a talented soldier. I'm sure that you will make it through just fine.”

He saluted the director and left the office, steeling himself to his eventual fate as a guinea pig, and that he may or may not live past the tender age of 23. “From our recent studies, it seems that there are a multitude of side effects from prolonged injections, ranging from chills, fever, and vomiting to cardiac arrest and coma,” the director explained, reading off a chart on her desk.

He didn't find comfort knowing any of that. A chill went down his spine at the thought of lying comatose in a hospital bed hooked up to a machine, his mother and sisters laying over his chest and whispering prayers through tears. 

_This is for the greater good_ , he said to himself, _and for the greater good, you need to make sacrifices in its name. This was never about you._

\--

Another recruit has just passed the finish line. “Down from 9 minutes 46 seconds to 5 minutes 1 second. You’re showing exceptional improvement, 76, keep it up,” Reyes hears the proctor say, giving the recruit an encouraging clap on the shoulder before returning his attention to the next person about to finish the obstacle course. 

76 half sits, half collapses next to Reyes, chest heaving and legs splayed out on the ground. His face looks like a swollen tomato, with beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and rolling off his chin. Reyes blinks, and the unfortunate recognition dawns on him that it’s his roommate. He does a double take, and shockingly enough, it really is his weird roommate. 

And he’s super white. Almost painstakingly so. Reyes gets a good look at him for the first time, and what he’s met with is more of a shock to him than he wants to let on. 76 sports blonde hair that's been recently buzzed short, strikingly blue eyes, a crooked nose, broad shoulders, a toned body. “Morrison” reads above the little breast pocket of his issued fatigues in bold black lettering. He looks like someone who would be plastered all over white nationalist propaganda, the epitome of an Aryan wet dream.

Reyes hates that the first thing he thinks when he sees Morrison is “pretty”. He especially hates how fast his cheeks flush red again. 

Some nasty, utterly disgusting part of him deep down wants to see him writhe and gasp underneath him, chanting his name like a prayer until it lost all meaning. Another part of him wants to beat his ass (or really lack thereof, if he was completely honest) to kingdom come, but he knows all too well what would happen, what people would think of him should he follow through with that.

White boys are dangerous to men like him. White boys will get him killed, and he knows that. He’s seen those videos of brown and black men being shot dead in cold blood by white cops. Seen clips of white men wearing red hats hurling slurs and profanities to men who looked like him, threatening to assault and kill them. 

He knows he needs to keep his distance for his own safety. And yet he’s strangely drawn to this fuckoff blondie who he’s seen for the third time in his life and probably deepthroated corn as a hobby. 

So going against his instinct and better judgement, Reyes cocks his head to the side and puts on his biggest grin. “Nice job out there, dude.”

Morrison looks genuinely startled from being directly addressed, staring at Reyes dumbfoundedly like a deer caught in the headlights. He stiffens up, clearly unsure of what to do with himself. “Yeah, you too,” he manages to fumble out, rubbing the nape of his neck. 

Reyes is taken aback for a moment. When he first saw Morrison in a cramped barrack alongside a handful of other eager recruits puffing their chests out and ready to take on whatever the world threw at them, he was sitting by himself in the back, head resting over his clasped hands. From the looks of it, everyone was avoiding him, and it was probably for good reason. 

His lip was swollen and busted open, and a particularly nasty bruise was splotched on his temple; probably picked a fight with someone earlier in the day, Reyes assumed. His brow was furrowed deeply, a determined and unfaltering gaze burning holes into the wall in front of him. 

He never spoke to anyone during basic outside of the drill sergeant when he was calling role. And when they were both assigned the same dorm for SEP, Morrison just gave him a curt “hello” and promptly left the room as soon as he was done unpacking his belongings.

Reyes had initially assumed that Morrison would be one of those hardasses who never communicated with anyone outside of grunts and vague body language, and probably knew too much about the second world war and how to dismantle and clean guns. But this blew that assumption completely out of the water, and Reyes isn’t really sure of what to think of him now. 

A few minutes pass, and an uncomfortable silence pours into the space between the two men. Reyes tries to say something to fill the void, but keeps his mouth shut. No use pushing his luck at this point. Thankfully, it's broken when the last recruit makes it across the finish line, nearly collapsing on top of the proctor drenched in sweat. 

“Alright, that’s the last of them. Recruits!” Everyone’s gaze falls on the proctor, who hurries the recruit away and coughs awkwardly into his free hand before continuing.

“Congratulations for surviving the second run,” he says dryly, pushing his glasses up. “Hopefully, it was much easier than what you had to do a couple days ago.” A smattering of tired cheers ripple among the recruits, and one of them even pumps their fist in the air half-heartedly. 

“All of you must report to the labs at 1430 hours and no later for the next round of shots. You don't want to get those nurses pissed off, trust me. You’re all dismissed.”

Slowly, the recruits begin to trickle back into the building, leaving behind Reyes, Morrison and a few other stragglers sitting around and chatting idly. Reyes gets up with a sigh and considers holing himself up in the stuffy dorm he has to share with Morrison. Maybe take off his sports bra and sneak in a quick nap if Morrison didn’t have the same idea of sleeping.

He turns around and catches Morrison still gawking at him, who in turn quickly diverts his eyes and begins to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, pulling it up to his brow to wipe off the sweat that built up from both the run and the heat beating down. Reyes isn't entirely sure if this guy is somehow entirely starstruck by his mere presence, or he’s just having a stroke right now. Either way, he can't help but think it's a little endearing. Cute, if he was really pushing it. 

Even though every inch of him is screaming at him to turn his heel and never interact with Morrison ever again, Reyes extends a hand out to him. “You want to get something to eat with me, or are you just gonna sit out here and sweat until injections roll around? Name’s Gabriel Reyes, by the way.” 

“Like the angel?” Morrison asks, eyebrow quirked up and the corner of his mouth curling into a lopsided grin. Apparently, this one likes to run his mouth and make smart comments. Definitely one of the reasons why most people avoided him at the facility.

Gabriel snorts. “No, of course not,” he deadpans, then, “of course like the angel, dumbass, who else could it be?”

Morrison gets a hearty laugh out of that, and his hand reaches out but stops in midair, like he’s hesitant to touch him. Then he grasps Gabriel’s hand firmly and pulls himself up to his feet, briefly losing his balance before standing upright. Standing at his full height, Morrison is a little taller than Gabriel, and his hand is warm against his own. The same part of him deep down imagines those hands roaming over his own exposed skin, lovingly caressing him and trailing down his stomach and to his--

He shoves that thought down immediately. The heated feeling that shoots straight to his crotch isn't helping his situation any. 

Gabriel tries to direct his focus to other parts of his body he won’t fantasize about on the spot. His eyes were a more intense shade of blue up close, crinkled up from his lopsided smile with little flecks of amber near his irises. A strong jaw, graced with faint stubble on a rugged face. Morrison is even prettier upon closer inspection, and Gabriel despises it. So much for trying to not find him attractive. 

“Jack Morrison. And yeah, food sounds great,” he says with a little chuckle. A forced, tense noise that's like music to Gabriel’s ears, much to his distaste. 

He lets go of Gabriel’s hand too quickly, and starts off in the direction of the mess hall without waiting for him. Now it's his turn to stare and gawk, hand still frozen in place and residual warmth from Morrison’s hand still lingering.

“Reyes?” Morrison--should he call him Jack? Are they on a first name basis now that they introduced themselves?-- snaps Gabriel out of his stupor. “You coming?”

“Yeah, be right there,” he calls, breaking into a light jog to catch up with Jack. Was he really standing there for that long? 

As it turns out when the pair make it to the mess hall, Jack is astonishingly easy to talk to, despite the initial cloud of distrust. He laughs at all of Gabriel’s jokes, and is able to make a few remarks of his own that elicit a chuckle or two. 

They talk-- well, really only Gabriel talks in detail about his family and his life back home, his dreams for the future. Gabriel rattles on about his sisters back home and attending military balls with his parents in his own dress blues when he barely reached their hips. He talks about the theater program he managed and designed costumes for at his high school, and about a show his school took to the Cappies and won a couple awards for the year before he joined the military. 

Every time he manages to catch himself rambling, Gabriel also catches Jack staring at him in rapt awe, neglecting his food in favor of listening to his stories. Surprisingly, he doesn’t feel uneasy with Jack’s eyes on him anymore. On the flip side, Jack avoids answering most of the questions Gabriel asks him, opting to either change the subject entirely or give him a vague, unsatisfying answer. 

From what little he could pull out of him, Jack lived in rural Indiana on a farm, a couple miles away from Bloomington. He has an older sister he doesn’t stay in touch with much (she moved out as soon as she turned 18 and only left a note on the kitchen table, apparently), and lived much of his life with his father. Nothing of his mother or another caretaker anywhere.

He briefly mentions playing football at his high school and something about wanting to be a local politician or a history teacher if he wasn’t military. The fine print on his dog tags read “Christian” underneath “A-” and his full name (apparently, his middle name is Francis; Gabriel makes note to pick fun at him when the opportunity presents itself), but he never mentions practicing anything at home. 

“Hey, Jack?” Gabriel glances between him and an analog clock on a nearby wall. “I think we should leave now.” Sure enough, the clock reads 1427 hours. Jack looks up from his food to look at the clock himself, and his eyes widen for a second, quietly cursing under his breath as he begins to shovel more of his lunch down. 

“Shit, didn’t realize how long we were here,” he mutters with his mouth full, already almost done cleaning his plate. By then, most of the other recruits who stopped by for a meal had already headed out, leaving only the lone pair in the mess hall. Gabriel stands up and immediately beelines towards the exit, beckoning Jack to come with him. 

“Race you to injections,” he offers, the beginnings of a smile creeping up on his face. 

Jack grins back, eyes twinkling. “Oh, you picked the wrong person to bet a race on, Reyes. I’ll have you know that I beat my school’s track-- hey! Cheater!” Before he can finish his thought, Gabriel has already sprinted out the doors, laughter trailing behind him.

“Did I ever mention that I don't fight fair, Jackass?” Gabriel teases, already hearing said jackass in question scrambling out the door and shouting curses at him. 

Something tells him that he’ll be stuck with Morrison for longer than the injection trials. A small, wistful part of him hopes that they’ll even be part of the same unit when they eventually fight in the crisis. Partners who would watch each other's sixes. 

Gabriel smiles to himself. The next 6 weeks in this shithole will be more bearable than he anticipated.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact i wrote this mostly out of spite bc some people can't be normal apparently el em ay oh
> 
> but in all seriousness thank you so much for reading this! this is the very first time i've ever posted my own writing online, and any feedback is greatly appreciated! i wanted to do my own interpretation on gabriel and jack + their relationship for the longest time, and i finally got around to doing it
> 
> because i'm in several advanced classes and i have bad time management skills, i can't really give a definitive date for when the next chapter will be up ;; but i'm working hard to make sure it'll be up before 2018 ends. again, thank you so, so much for reading and i hope you have a wonderful day/night xoxo


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